Fire
by Tehri
Summary: Arthur's mind and soul can be likened to a fire; he will burn you if you aren't careful. There is, however, someone who hasn't managed to understand that...


_**Those of you who remember me will know that I haven't posted here in ages. I have not stopped writing, I just haven't been able to write something that doesn't suck. This is the first fanfic I've written for a very long time, and it's one of few that I'm feeling relatively satisfied with, despite how... incoherent it seems. Anyway. Here you guys go, the first thing I've posted for a long time! And please, do review!  
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><p>The entire house was wrapped in darkness; the only light came from the flames in the fireplace. The light fell on the figure sitting in the armchair in front of the fire, gently caressing the pale skin, colouring the blonde hair in a peculiar golden red shade, making the emerald eyes sparkle as they stared into the flames. Arthur had been sitting there for a while already, not moving an inch. His mind wandered constantly, but there was one thought that kept returning to make all the others seem somewhat coherent.<p>

_I like fire. You always know that it's hot. You know that it can be both your friend and your enemy._

He had lived for centuries, in almost constant strife, not always by his own choice. He had survived other empires, he had survived insane rulers. Sometimes he wondered if there was anything or anyone at all that could challenge him and win. Some had been close.

He _did, didn't he_, whispered a voice in the back of his head. _That brat won, didn't he?_

Not against the full might of the Empire that held the world in the palm of its hand. No, the brat had not won that battle; Arthur had simply decided to let him think he had. He, England, the British Empire, had not been able to shoot him simply because he cared back in those days. The boy was still _his_ boy. His brother. Now? The child was unwanted, and yet he insisted on attempting to slip back into the former Empire's life.

One could compare Arthur's mind, heart and soul to fire. If you weren't careful, he'd burn you. He didn't always need a reason. There were those who understood this, and those who couldn't figure it out. Francis was among those who understood it all too well; he had, with time, learnt how to read the younger man like an open book, and despite what he claimed, even he respected the fire that burned within. In Arthur's mind, the man who was France was burnt at the stake long ago; he was no longer a threat, despite their occasional squabbling. Despite the wars they had fought against each other even after that, the Englishman could not make himself see this man as more fuel for the fire. In his mind, Francis was an empty husk, a burnt corpse thrown into the pile with the others. He didn't need to worry about him.

Spain had also gone too close to the flames and caught fire. That had been in the time when England was still ascending the stairs to his throne, and the memories of the consuming flames still haunted Antonio; all it took was a smirk and a mention of the old armada, and the Spaniard would recoil as if he had been physically wounded. They never looked into each other's eyes anymore – to Arthur, it was simply because he saw no point in seeking an opponent in the Spaniard anymore, and to Antonio, it was out of respect for the memories of that ruthless man he had fought once.

_America came too close_, thought Arthur to himself, a scowl appearing on his face. _He slipped past the flames somehow. He was just a child, how could I see him as a threat? If it weren't for how stubborn he is, he wouldn't have gone against my wishes in the end._

The fire had never touched America. Even during the revolution, England had not fought at full strength. He attempted to correct the child, grew impatient, and finally gave up. America hadn't won; England had simply thrown him away. The tears had been real, but not because America had grown strong. They were simply for the fact that while the fire raged, a part of Arthur's mind had reminded him that he had raised this child as his little brother. And that little brother was now telling him to go away, that he wasn't needed anymore. Of course, he left the New World with a heavy heart, but at the same time, he made a promise; the fire would burn the former colony one day. It would consume him, just like it consumed everyone else.

And so he watched and waited. Every time he had an opportunity, he was held back by politics. Every time there was a war, he had to stand on America's side and direct the fire elsewhere. He was growing more and more impatient, and the flames within him made repeated attempts at breaking free; whether they would devour him or the brat first remained to be seen.

_Soon_, he told himself over and over again. _Soon enough. Wait. Just a little longer._

The question was if the brat was planning something similar, with the way he kept attempting to slither in through every single crack he could find. Normally, Arthur didn't mind snakes, but when it came to this particular one, the viper that he had fed and cared for once upon a time, he felt like chopping off the head and feeding the body to the crows. America had to be planning something. He wasn't as naive as people thought; he was just as shrewd as any other nation. Intelligent enough to make his little act incredibly convincing. And it was Arthur he kept coming back to, it was Arthur's armour he attempted to get through. In this aspect, he was still a child. When he was younger, he had completely failed to see the fire in his guardian's eyes, and even now he couldn't see it. He was intelligent and cunning, but he made a mistake – he thought that he already knew everything he needed to know about the older nation.

_Go ahead_, laughed a voice from within the flames. _Come, child. Come, and burn in my embrace!_

A slight smile replaced the scowl on Arthur's face as he finally stirred and leant forward, putting his hands as close to the fire as he could without having the flames lick his skin.

"I like fire," he said softly to the empty room. "You know that it will burn you in the end. You know that it will hurt you if you get too close. You feel the heat right before it devours your flesh. You can never tell that with people." A laugh passed over his lips. "And little serpents should avoid the flames..."


End file.
